Eight McGee and Abby OneShots
by Oxymoronic Alliteration
Summary: Just what the title says. These are eight one-shots starring Abby and McGee which I wrote for an ncis land challenge. Some het and some friendship.
1. Tattooed Man

"So you really got a tattoo just because Tony told you I only date guys with tattoos?" Abby asked as she and Tim occupied a small table in a corner street diner. The two had only just officially met minutes before when Tim had arrived in her lab for their agreed upon lunch date, but they had immediately hit it off, finding common ground in many things, especially science. Though Tim was of a shyer nature, he found that Abby had a knack of putting him at ease and making him feel like he'd known her for years. Even when he felt himself growing silent, she would continue on with the conversation, never commenting on the fact that it was quite one-sided.

"Yeah," he admitted, feeling his cheeks begin to burn up, "it's kind of lame, I know."

Surprisingly, Abby smiled, shaking her head. "It's not lame. Tattoos can hurt; I've had enough of them to know. I think it's really sweet that you were willing to put yourself through that just for a chance to go out with me. Not that you had to," she added, lest he should get the wrong impression. While she dug body art (especially on men and especially on men who, like Tim, looked too wholesome to even set foot in a tattoo parlor) it wasn't a necessity for prospective men to have it. She still would have accepted Tim's shy and slightly stuttered invitation to lunch.

Tim involuntarily winced. The tattoo _had_ hurt and it still hurt, seeing as he had just gotten it the day before. He wished he had taken Tony's comment with a grain of salt and spared himself the pain. But what was done was done, and if nothing else it seemed to have gotten a positive reaction out of Abby.

"The thing you've got to learn about Tony," she said as she picked at her salad, "is that he thinks he knows more than he actually does. I mean, we've known each other for two years, so he's got a pretty good idea of what type of girl I am, but the type of girl that I am doesn't dictate the type of guy I like. Does that make sense?" Tim nodded. "See, Tony sometimes likes to view things in a more stereotypical sense. I'm Goth, have tattoos, and listen to death metal, so he kind of assumes that I'm into guys like that, but it's not true. I mean, I _do_ like Goth guys, but not exclusively. For me it's more about the brains and stuff. Oh, and personality and morality and that kind of stuff. Not that you've got to be a saint, because God knows I'm now, but I can't date the kind of guys who'd kick puppies or something because I love puppies."

"I don't kick puppies," Tim assured her quickly. He wanted to clear that up right then and there.

"Oh, I know," she said without missing a beat. "You totally don't seem like the puppy-kicking type or anything; I just meant that as an example. But, like, I don't go for those really macho and cocky guys who think I'm going to swoon over them the second I see them, and you totally don't seem like that either. Not that a girl shouldn't swoon over you, but I'm not really the swooning type and even if I were I don't want a guy to assume I'm going to swoon over him, even if I am."

Tim blinked slowly as he tried to absorb what she had just said. Abby had already shown herself to be a rapid-fire talker who could say a lot in one breath, but Tim wasn't accustomed to it so he was a bit taken aback. Almost the antithesis of Abby in that sense, Tim often struggled to get his words out in one breath, sometimes stumbling over them like an amateur athlete trying to run through the tires for the first time. He had to take each "tire" one at a time and stick to his own pace, lest he should end up falling flat on his face. "Well," he said slowly, "I'm glad we cleared that up. Uh, I mean, cleared up the fact that I, uh…you know, don't expect you to swoon…uh, and that I don't kick puppies."

Abby's black-painted lips twitched upward into a sly grin. It wasn't often that she encountered a man who got so flustered as Tim, especially not within NCIS. It was refreshing. She wondered if he was like this around all people or if her presence was adding to his stammering state. Secretly, she hoped it was.

"Why 'Mom'?"

"Pardon me?" Tim asked, brows knitted together.

"Your tattoo; you said you got 'Mom' tattooed on your butt and I was just wondering what the thought process behind that was."

His cheeks tinged once again. Truthfully, he hadn't even thought about it, not the way most people do. That may have been a mistake on his part seeing as the word 'Mom' would know be permanently written on his rear. "I didn't know what kind of tattoo to get," he explained. "In those movies about bikers and stuff, one of them always seems to have a heart with 'Mom' written inside tattooed to his bicep, so I thought that was a typical tattoo."

Her smile grew as she stifled back a laugh. Somehow, that explanation seemed quite plausible considering who it was coming from. "So why not get it on your bicep?"

He squirmed in his seat. "I wanted it somewhere that most people can't see."

"Embarrassed about it?"

"No…not exactly. I just like to keep some things secret."

"Maybe I could see it sometime." The comment was a hint on her part and Tim heard it loud and clear.

"Maybe," he agreed enthusiastically, hoping—praying—that "maybe" would turn out to be "definitely."

"It's kind of like our own little secret. Well, Tony knows and Gibbs knows—"

"Agent Gibbs knows?" Tim asked, his voice raising a full octave.

"Probably," she told him very nonchalantly, "he knows everything. But aside from them, it's like our own little secret."

"Yeah, our own little secret," he muttered, thoroughly ashamed that a man he held in such high regard at Agent Gibbs was aware that he'd gotten 'Mom' tattooed to his butt in a sad attempt to attract a girl who would have gone out with him either way. What would Agent Gibbs think of that? Had he ever done something so stupid to get a girl? Probably not, he figured. Agent Gibbs didn't strike him as the type of man who needed much help attracting women.

Catching his mopey disposition, Abby gently placed her hand over his. "Even Gibbs has a secret tattoo."

"If it's so secret how do you know about it?"

She smiled impishly but didn't reply. "What say we make a date for tonight to unveil your new body art?"


	2. Snow

She loved the snow. He thought it odd considering she'd grown up in a much warmer climate and had probably never seen snow for the first ten or so years of her life. Though, maybe that was why she was so awed by the majestic white flakes that fluttered down from the sky, dancing around them as the wind blew. When you grow up with something like snow, it's very easy to take it for granted.

"Let's make snow angels," Abby said. Without waiting for Tim to respond, she pulled him down to the ground and joined him on her back. Vigorously, she ran her outstretched limbs along the ground, pushing the carpet of snow around until it looked like an angel had been lying there.

Tim didn't make one, opting instead to watch her. In many ways she was like a child. Energetic, carefree, bright-eyed. Surely this wasn't her first snow—she'd been living on the east coast long enough that she'd grown accustomed to it—yet each time was as though she were experiencing it for the first time. It made him grin.

"Aren't you going to make one?" she asked.

"I've made enough snow angels to last me a life time."

"Oh, come on," she pleaded with a tiny pout, "it's fun! Besides, if you don't make one, my snow angel will feel lonely."

He shook his head and sighed, though he was still grinning that same grin. "Okay, okay," he relented as he flopped on to his back, "I'll make a snow angel." As he swished his arms and legs back and forth, another sprinkle of snow began to descend upon him. It wasn't often that he saw the snow from this perspective; it was a beautiful sight, he had to admit.

"There," he said, sitting up. He brushed bits of snow from his hair and shook his head to remove any stubborn flakes that had managed to hold tight. "There, I made a snow angel. Now can I get up? It's freezing!"

She stood first, extending a hand to help him to his feet. Of course, now snow angel could ever be perfect; when the maker stood, he or she left behind footprints or handprints in their creation, and Abby and Tim were no different. Each of their angels had twin footprints marring them.

"Not bad," she commented, admiring their handiwork.

"You do realize that these will be gone in a few minutes, especially if the snow keeps falling like this."

"You're such a spoil sport, McGee," she retorted, sticking out her tongue good-naturedly.

They continued their walk, the snow continuing to swirl about them, like a well-choreographed choreographed routine.

And it was perfect.


	3. Cajun Christmas

Christmas time was a wonderful time for many people. It was a time of joy and happiness, a time of family and friends, a time of giving and loving, and a time of giving thanks for the wonderful things in one's life. A person couldn't even step out of their home without hearing a Christmas carol, seeing beautiful decorations, or feeling an overwhelming sense of serenity and peace.

Usually at NCIS, the center of the holiday spirit came from the lab of one Abby Scuito, forensic and ballistic scientist extraordinaire. This year, though, there was an eerily somber tone hanging over the normally jolly lab. Tim could feel the tension the moment he stepped foot inside.

"Abby?"

She looked up from her place. She wasn't wearing her typical Christmas garb—red sweaters, bells in her pig-tailed hair, and a Santa choker wrapped around her neck. Instead, her outfit consisted of just plain black clothing, as did her make-up which was beginning to look a little smeared, specifically beneath her eyes. It was almost as if… "Have you been crying?" he asked softly.

"No," she said as she sniffled, belying her words. "It's just I have a cold."

Tim knew better. He'd known Abby long enough to recognize when something was wrong. Aside from the lack of Christmas spirit and the telltale mascara stains on her face, there was a sparkle lacking in her eyes. "Abbs," he said as he took the seat beside her, "tell me what's wrong."

She averted her eyes and wiped the heel of her hand across her cheeks, catching make-up debris. "I was supposed to go home this year for Christmas. I haven't had a New Orleans Christmas in five years and I was really looking forward to it. But the weather is so bad here that they don't think the plane will even be able to take off." She sniffled again. "Looks like it's gonna be another D.C. Christmas."

"Oh, Abby, I'm sorry," he said, slinging a friendly arm around her shoulder. "But you've got us here, you know that."

"I know, but it's still not a New Orleans Christmas. I miss the warmth and the food and the songs."

"Well, I know we don't exactly have a lot of warmth here at the moment, but is our food and our songs so different than the food back South?"

"It's the only place where I can get a steaming bowl of authentic gumbo, my Aunt Wendy's bread pudding, and a Christmas Night Hurricane at Pat O'Brien's. It's also the only place where I can hear The Twelve Yats of Christmas."

He raised an eyebrow. Gumbo and bread pudding were familiar to him, but he didn't understand why someone would want a hurricane on Christmas and he was still trying to figure out what a 'yat' was. Still, he didn't want to dishearten her further. "I'm sure we can put something together for you," he assured the dismayed girl. "Ziva's a wiz in the kitchen and I'm sure she could churn out some sort of gumbo and bread pudding, even if it's not the kind you're used to."

Abby nodded. "Yeah, you're right. I guess it was silly of me to get so worked up over not being able to go home right now. There's not much there that I can't find here. My mom sent me a package of Hurricane mix anyway, so all I need is the rum."

"Right," Tim said, pretending like he'd known a Hurricane was a type of cocktail all along, "and as for the Twelve…whatevers of Christmas…"

"It's Twelve Yats of Christmas," she said, a small smile playing on her lips. "To be honest, I know the entire thing by heart so I could teach it to you guys, even if it won't make much sense."

"That sounds like fun," he told her. It was good to see her happy again. Well, at least happier than she had just been. "It'll be just like if you were home. Except it'll be colder and you won't have your family here."

Abby went to her stereo and switched it on. It had already been set to the Christmas station, so the soft chords of "White Christmas" wafted through the speakers, filling her lab with holiday cheer.

"No," she said to Tim as she began plugging in her Christmas lights, "I'll have my family here. My family away from my family."


	4. Endings

"So this is it?"

The question hung in the air between them. Neither wanted to look the other in the eye.

"I like you, McGee," she said after a long bout of silence. "I really like you and really care about you. But I can't give you what you want in a relationship. I can't be that girl and I'm not going to pretend like I can be."

He nodded somberly. It wasn't that he didn't understand. Obviously they were both looking for different things in a partner and as right as they may have been for each other and has much as they both wanted it to work, it couldn't and wouldn't. But damn it if he still wasn't trying to hold out hope. Abby had been the first girl in a while to make him feel this way. Not love exactly, but a nice feeling nonetheless.

"Guess I was stupid to think it'd go somewhere."

She almost wanted to cry seeing him like this. Instead, she engulfed him in one of her world-famous hugs. "No, you weren't stupid. It just wasn't meant to be. But we'll still be friends…right?"

Tim wasn't certain. He wanted to stay friends, but now wasn't the best time to think about it. "I will still care about you." It was the best and most honest answer he could give her at the moment.

"McGee…"

"I should go," he interrupted, not wanting her to finish her sentence, not wanting to hear anymore of what she has to say. He wasn't angry at her, but he needed to be somewhere else, somewhere away to think. "But I hope I see you around," he promised. And he meant it.


	5. Cupcake

Tim knew he'd screwed up. It had been wrong and he'd known that even as he did it. But Abby hadn't been there when he'd gone down to ask if she'd found anything on the laptop. His stomach had grumbled as he'd walked through the lab…and then he'd seen it. The chocolate cupcake had been sitting there as though it were in a display case, illuminated by the fluorescent lights of the cooler. It looked so heavenly and his empty stomach begged him to take just a nibble. That nibble became a bite and then a gulp and before he'd known it the cupcake was gone, leaving him with an empty box and telltale chocolate on his lips.

She still wasn't talking to him. One would think he had gotten Caf-Pows banned or had ripped Bert to shreds, rather than simply eating a cupcake. Not that he could blame her; he hadn't just taken her cupcake, but had also betrayed her trust. Now he needed to gain it once again.

"Abby!" he called as she stormed past him. She didn't slow her pace. "Abby!"

"I'm still not talking to you, McGee!"

Luckily for him, she'd just purchased a new pair of platform boots and they weren't broken in yet, so it wasn't hard for him to catch up to her and stop in her path. "Abby, I'm really sorry that I ate your cupcake."

"Sorry isn't good enough, McGee."

"I know, but please, let me apologize! What I did was wrong and my hunger was no excuse, but I admit that I messed up. I'm only human! You're not really going to hate me forever, are you?"

"Well, no," she admitted with a small pout. To be honest, she didn't hate him at all. She had been miffed, but it was hard to be mad at him.

"Look, I'll buy you another one. I'll buy you two or three if you want! Just anything that will make you stop being mad at me."

Her eyes alit. "Anything?"

Tim was beginning to regret his choice of words, but he wasn't about to backtrack when he'd finally made some headway. "Anything," he assured her.

"Make me another one."

He lifted his eyebrows, not sure he'd heard correctly. "Make you another one? Another cupcake?"

"Yep! The bakery lists all of the ingredients that go into the cupcake. So make me another one and bring it to me tomorrow."

The thought of baking a cupcake made Tim uneasy. The most baking he'd ever done was putting a Pop Tart in the toaster and sometimes he even managed to screw _that_ up. Still, he heard himself say, "Yeah, sure…I'll have it here tomorrow."

"Good!" she chirped brightly, her mood visibly better. "Oh, and McGee?"

He looked up, pushing away thoughts of whether or not he could buy one and disguise it as having been baked. "Yeah?"

"It'd better be the best cupcake I've ever eaten!"


	6. Santa Baby

"Please, McGee!" she begged, her green eyes wide and pleading. "Please, please, please!"

Tim sighed, sinking down further into his chair. He'd been hoping to relax tonight, ready himself for the impending holiday rush of the next week. The days had been hard as everyone tried to finish up as much work as they could before their holiday break, and Gibbs' team was no different. Sure, it had been mostly paperwork, but even that could grow tedious after a while. He'd planned to fill his night with a nice glass of wine, a good book, and some jazz music. But he knew it was hopeless; he couldn't say no to her.

"What would I need to do?"

Before she even replied, Abby engulfed him in a constricting hug, planting her red painted lips firmly against his cheek. "Just be there at seven. I'll do the rest! Oh, and bring a pillow!" she added, giving his tummy a pat.

* * *

The building was filled to the brim with excited children and their parents. They came from poorer families, ones that had to spend their Christmas money on more sensible gifts, like clothing. While they would get the occasional toy, it was rarely the popular ones that filled the toy store catalogues.

"Ready, Mr. Claus?"

Tim turned around. He'd been peeking out from his waiting area, watching the children run around, eating the donated cookies and candy.

Abby was standing there in her red sweater, complete with a skull and crossbones Santa, and black jeans. Sleigh bells were tied around her pigtails and they jingled with every move she made.

"Ready as I'll ever be," he said, his words muffled by the white beard she had placed on him. After all, Santa just wasn't Santa without his long white beard. He only hoped no skeptical youngster gave it a tug.

"You'll be great," she assured him, giving him another hug. It made his body heat up even more than it already had, encased in the heavy red and white suit. "Thanks again for doing this! I appreciate it and so do the Sisters."

"I couldn't disappoint the kids," he told her. He also couldn't disappoint her, but that was better left unsaid. "Just glad I could help out."

"Well, I'll be your elf and I'll bring them up one by one to great you. They'll sit on your lap, tell you their name. Just ask the typical 'Have you been good this year?' stuff. Then they'll go over to Sister Rosita and she'll give them a gift."

"How many kids?"

"We've got enough for eighty, but we'll probably only have twenty or thirty. It's never gone above fifty."

He nodded. "Guess I'd better work on my 'Ho! Ho! Ho!'"

Her lips twitched upward. "I think you're doing pretty well with that already." She leaned up and lifted his beard, planting a kiss on part of his face hidden by the beard. "You always make a great Santa, McGee."

Tim blushed, adding to the make-up that had already been caked onto his cheeks, giving him that jolly, rosy look. "You don't do so bad yourself, Abbs."


	7. Book Ends

"So what made you decide to make Amy want McGregor?"

Tim held back a groan. He'd hoped the subject would be dropped and forgotten, but Abby was standing before him, arms akimbo, waiting for an answer. Granted, the Landon ordeal had occurred the day before, not nearly enough time for it and his book to be forgotten.

"Don't read too much into it," he said as he looked away. "Crawshaw wanted me to add some romance to the story."

"And Amy and McGregor were your only options?" she replied, a teasing tone in her voice.

He blushed a bit. "Well…no. But she said McGregor was really relatable and a lot of my readers want someone for him."

"Mm-hm," she murmured unbelievingly. "So why make him reject her, then? Why not give the readers what they want?"

"Crawshaw didn't think it should be so…corny."

"And you just do whatever Crawshaw says?"

"Well, she is my publisher. I want her to keep accepting my books."

Abby grinned but shook her head. "I guess whatever Crawshaw wants, Crawshaw gets."

"Kind of."

"Just remember what I said: no marriage!"

He held his hands up in defense. "I heard you loud and clear, Abby! I can assure you, McGregor and Amy will not have a wedding anytime in the near future."

Satisfied with his answer, Abby bound off toward her lab, leaving Tim to finish what he'd been doing when she'd approached. Luckily, he'd been able to minimize the document before she could see it. After the Landon fiasco, Tim had reluctantly agreed to switch from his typewriter to a computer, lest another crazy Gemcity fan should follow Landon's lead.

"_Will you, Amy?" McGregor asked. He never thought he'd ever pop the question to any girl, figuring he'd live his life a loner. "Will you make me a happy man?"_

_Speechless, she nodded before running into his inviting arms. "No wedding," she whispered firmly. "Just us; just you and me."_

"_We'll elope," he promised. "Tomorrow or even tonight if you'd like! Just say the word!"_

Tim sat back and reread that. Technically he'd been telling Abby the truth. After all, an elopement wasn't a wedding. Sure, it still resulted in a marriage, just the same, but…well…he'd deal with Abby when and if the book got published. By then, maybe—just maybe—she'll have warmed to the idea.


	8. Midnight Mass

His eyes were beginning to droop and Tim stifled back a yawn. A surreptitious glance at his watch informed him that it was 12:41 am. They still had a bit of time to go, though they were just beginning the offertory song. Luckily, the church wasn't very crowded, so communion wouldn't take so long.

Abby nudged him, forcing his weary eyes open. But she wasn't angry at him. She gave him a sympathetic smile, hoping he knew how much she appreciated this.

Tim never went to midnight mass during the Christmas season. He always caught an earlier service on Christmas Eve or went on Christmas morning. Midnight mass just seemed so far away every Christmas Eve and waiting for it to roll around, let alone staying awake during the service, was a struggle, especially when it was as cold outside as it was at this moment. Everyone in that church—including the priest—looked forward to slipping into their warm beds for the night.

It seemed to drag on forever and Tim did his best to pay proper attention. He practically sleepwalked up the aisle to receive communion, though he felt a sigh of relief resonating in his throat. The service was almost over now.

"Thanks for coming with me," Abby whispered as they knelt in their pew.

He was resting his elbows on the back of the pew before him, his hands clasped together in prayer, and had his forehead leaning against his hands while his eyes closed. "It's fine," he muttered. "I was happy to."

A late night at NCIS had ensured that neither of them could make it to an earlier service. While Tim would have gladly waited until the next morning, Abby had an early flight to catch home and had no other option but midnight mass. Not wanting to go out alone at this time of night and in this weather, she had corralled Tim into going with her. It hadn't taken much; just a flutter of her eyelashes, a small pout, and a little begging.

With the service over, they walked out into the cold night, pulling their coats tightly around them and huddling closer together to keep warm. The sky was clear, though a fresh blanket of snow lay across the ground.

Tim had offered to give her a ride to the airport, allowing Abby to leave her car at NCIS for the holidays. Her bags were already in the trunk and he opened the passenger door for her. Before sliding in, Abby turned and looked up at him with a grin. Then, she pushed herself up and planted a small, platonic kiss on his lips. "Merry Christmas, McGee."

* * *

**AN:** And thus it ends :) Thank you all for reading!


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